#that’s why the colors are Like That™️

[paramaline]

why do you love your egg cooker so much?

i love this ask thank you for letting me talk about my egg cooker

EXTREMELY fast and simple to use and surprisingly versatile in what i can use it for - i think i could even steam vegetables in this baby if i wanted to. and it was like fifteen bucks

love the color and the fact that it looks like a cartoon flying saucer

love the blood curdling banshee scream it emits to alert me that my eggs are done

real talk i have stuff going on both mentally (food texture bullshit; anxiety related low appetite) and physically (often too fatigued to cook; messed up enlarged organs that crowd out my stomach) that sometimes makes it a chore to get enough Nutrients™️. eggs are something i can reliably eat and know that i've gotten a good dose of fat and protein, so it means a lot to me that i have several easy options for cooking them!

look at these unbearably twee le creuset egg cups i've got for eating em soft boiled !!!!

[inky-bun]

When the consumption is an expression of love and also just being very hungry

So yeah I’ve been thinking about the Den a very normal amount (lying)

[ipictureitsoftandiache]

[NOT your personal favorite, but the most Taylor Swift™️ Taylor Swift song, in your opinion]

[nachobsns]

honestly really need to curb my phone addiction and i’ve been looking into dumbphones lately as an alternative for when i’m out and about and like. say what you will about brand consumerism but i am a simple man and the barbie phone is calling to me

[oneirataxia-girl]

alvita's birthday exchange ⇝ for hadley @supermarine-silvally

ft. Bravada Yara x Portgas Ace

"And I'll surrender myself to you."

x x

I hope you like it!

bonus:

a small icon set to thank you for all the art you made for me! <33

[kimkaitual]

hii bex im here to request my sehyoon&dawon moodboard 😗 you can pick the color and concept 🫶🏽 and congrats again!

tysm liz 🥰🥰 I had a feeling that when you asked if you could do two from different groups, it'd be them 🤭 but here's the moodboard!! I hope you like it bc I kinda made a departure, as the vibrant color girl, with this one

[todayisafridaynight]

confession: sometimes I come to look at your art as references because you have noted details like moles + looking at what colors u put down in my quest to find what something looks like under neutral lighting I know the shit here has been thoroughly researched

i will be normal upon learning this news.

[jacaerysgf]

Unexpected Surprise

Summary: While attempting to gain the support of the vale, jeyne arryn has plans of her own for the prince.

r.q: Everyone forgets house Arryn😔🤘🏻 baddies of the vale Can you write something w Jace and an Arryn maybe lady Jayne’s little sister or daughter or something? Not a totally unreasonable alliance !! They have the coolest castle and knights also Ms Aemma Arryn ™️ like hello!! (I’m impatient as hell for more Vale coverage in season 2)

w.c: 900+

c.w: baela and jacaerys are not betrothed, arryn!reader jenye’s daughter, FLUFF, just a very cute fic, drabble, not proofread

a.n: IVE HAD THIS DONE SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR NO REASON OMGGGG but with the recent jeyne content i felt inspired to write this !! just something super simple <3 HOPE YOU ENJOY !! LOVE UUUU GUYS

masterlist - requests open

“Im sorry, what my lady?”

“I wish for you to marry my daughter.”

This is not how jacaerys thought this would go. When he arrived in the vale he thought he thought he would have to make simple small talk, present some of the benefits, hells even throw some complements her way in order to convince her. This however had not been in his cards.

“I'm sorry my lady i do not understand.”

“My daughter, y/n remains unmarried, around your age, a sweet girl, agree to wed her and me and my men will bend the knee.”

He blinks. He has no clue what to say to her. Jeyne stands after a moment, “I shall go fetch her.” He watches as one of the guards tries to stop her and tells her he will go retrieve the girl but Jeyne seems determined to go herself and he moves letting her leave. Jacaerys stands awkwardly in the middle of the room unsure of what to do.

He is not too sure he can just flat out agree to a proposal without his mother position, it is not like he is a second son, he is the heir to the queen. The next king, his wife to be the next queen. Yet when he sees you walking into the room, wearing a long dress in your house colors with your mother trialing behind with a pleased look on her face he finds himself wanting to agree to the marriage right away.

You are stunning. Easily the most beautiful women he’s ever seen, sure he hasn’t seen that many women but it doesn’t matter. He watches as you bow and mindlessly nods in acknowledgment, unable to take his eyes off you.

Jeyne looks between the two of you with a satisfied look. “Why don’t you show the prince around?” She gives you a pointed look to which you nod, “Of course i would be happy to.”

He walks over and offers you his arm with a smile on his face and you graceful take it before you begin to walk off with him. Jeyne stays behind and smiles to herself.

“My mother is very forward i apologize to you.” He simply shakes his head, he finds himself look at you instead of the halls he’s supposed to be looking at. “It is not an issue my lady, I rather appreciate it.” You look at him curiously but turn away once you notice he is already looking at you. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Many people speak in riddles, not saying what they mean or truly want, your mother is a rare gem.” You smile at the praise of your mother, “She truly is.”

You lead him outside and begin to tell him about the different plants and different sculptures around the courtyards. He is so charmed by you. The way you light up when you spot something and you begin to tell him of a memory you have, like how your mother scolded you for jumping around in the fountain, or when you almost fell out of one of the window's when you fell asleep.

“You truly love this place.” He can tell. The way you smile at the guards as they walk by or the way you know every detail about everything in the walls. But he sees the way you falter slightly at his words, “Am i wrong?”

You shake your head vigorously, “no no i do, its just i have never been away from here. My mother is a very protective woman, she waves away any suitors, she never even lets me leave the eyrie it is ridiculous!” You realize you're letting your emotions show too much and bow your head, “i am sorry that was out of line.”

He grabs your hands and you look at him with wide eyes. “I understand my lady, my mother is similar, i have truly never traveled to far, i wish to explore, once my mother has her rightful throne i believe i will take the time to see westeros a little bit,” He pauses before he speaks again, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “I could take you with me? if that is what you wish my lady.”

He watches as your eyes begin to glow and you beam at him, “truly? oh nothing would make me happier.” He nods and grips your hands tighter, “I shall take you everywhere.”

He does not expect you to throw your hands around his neck and pull him into a hug. He wraps his hands around your lower back, pushing his head into your neck and breathing in your scent. “I will accept your mothers propsal at once. You will fly with me to winterfell.” You pull back and give him an eager look. “Winterfell? Truly?” He nods, “I am to go meet lord cregan stark.”

You can barely contain your excitement at the thought of seeing something that was not the eyrie, especially a place as grand as winterfell.

Jeyne watched you two smile at one another from a window above with a small smile on her face. She does not hear the guard approaching her from behind, “You seem pleased my lady.” She says nothing to him for a moment, simply continuing to stare at the two of you. “Tell my men to ready themselves for war. It seems he will accept my proposal.”

perm jacaerys taglist <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife

[asexualotl-does-fanart]

Cute little meme-y art for The Eldest Brother by @debb987 that I’ve started months ago, finished last week and straight up forgot to post. This is just literally what half the fic felt like. The Brother Wrangler™️.

Anyways this was my first time drawing the 2012 gang (other than one screenshot redraw of Mikey’s face ages ago) and like goddamn why they gotta have so many different colors on them. Their limbs are very fun-to-draw shaped tho.

(Go check out the fic, it’s really good! Especially if you’re a fan of crossovers this is a must read!)

[missbutterworthless]

[i’m not a violent dog. i don’t know why i bite.]

The lead singer of BOTB’s Season 4 projected underdogs, Arlo Beck of Penny Arcade, declined further comment in regards to the threatening of a member of the media when questioned about former band mate and fellow competitor, Seven Lawless of Soft Violence.

Further Info Under the Cut!

TW for mentions of addiction 🫶

Introducing Arlo Beck, lead singer of Penny Arcade, a pop punk band of humble origins known most for their musically delivered political commentary and their revenge anthems (it is of particular note that such anthems were not common in the Lawless Era, with the band leaning far more heavily into charged love songs. Which could mean nothing.)

Fun Facts!

Beck is an Aquarius!

According to an insider source, beyond singing, Beck is quite capable with the ocarina.

Beck is known to juggle at any and every opportunity, regardless of who may or may not be watching. (He is apparently rather talented as well.)

Beck is known for accessorizing with heart motifs, noted by a previous local publication to be a nod to fellow bandmate Rowan Hart.

Beck often carries a bottle of quick dry black polish for ‘manicure emergencies’. He is known to have addressed such emergencies while on stage after chipping a nail during a performance.

Beck is often cited as the source for Penny Arcade’s ‘gimmick’ of collecting loose change in collection bins during a dedicated song at every performance. The change is then matched and donated to queer and at risk youth. Beck remains firm that every member of Penny Arcade, past and present, is equally responsible.

Picture Easter Eggs and more Fun Facts!

Arlo is wearing a WWOD? bracelet in the pic! The band got together to make bracelets with Orion’s most recent catchphrase while waiting for filming to start. Arlo made his particularly fruity. He also made a keychain version for Orion.

The time on Arlo’s phone is a nod to MCx7. Seven is, well, 7. And Arlo is 1 & 2 because his initials are the first and second letters of the alphabet. Hence, 7:12.

Arlo’s initial tattoo utilizes the S in SD as an infinity symbol. He acknowledges it is cringy. And poetically tragic.

Not shown is his tongue piercing, which Orion chewed him out for getting because his tongue was swollen and his speech slurred for nearly two weeks!

As stated above, he likes to wear motifs of his band members! Because he is a doofus! Most common because it’s his daily accessories is a heart motif for Rowan, but he also has jellyfish pendants and vampire bite chokers for Iris and different color bee pins for Devyn depending on their hair color! Jazzy is represented in the case he carries his juggling equipment in, which he takes literally everywhere after she bought him one for his birthday years ago. He is currently racking his brain for what to do for August!

43 of the 57 missed calls on his phone were from Orion. He knows because Orion’s ringtone is I Don’t Dance from High School Musical 2.

He is heavily addicted to nicotine (to Orion’s chagrin) and became a functioning (for now) alcoholic after The Fight™️. Prior, he imbibed during social functions but never alone and never when he had plans. Up until the audition, he never partook in other substances but caved into peer pressure. Despite his snark and notorius RBF, he is a chronic people pleaser.

The eyebrow slit is a scar from slicing his eyebrow open in Lucy’s diner after crashing head first into the dish station and shattering a plate. With his face. The scar is almost entirely faded but he can no longer grow hair there. He’s actually really insecure about it and has considered getting the spot microbladed.

That’s all for now folks! I mostly wanted to share my art :) I adore @infamous-if and have been playing with Arlo as my MC since Day 1! He finally fully clicked in my head and after days of attempting to find a face claim or craft him in the sims I decided to crack open Ye Olde iPad and do it myself!

Please feel free to share any fun facts about your own Infamous OCs! Regretfully my friends stay firmly opposed to interactive fiction so I am starved for fellow Infamous fans

[garciaasfluffypen]

take care of me (like i take care of you) pt. 2

pairing: jemily x adhd!reader word count: 2.3k warnings: reader’s kinda bratty in this one! reader is confused as to why being bratty is making them feel tingly but they like it so they keep doing it, softdom!jj begins to make an appearance, color system usage, the origin of jj refusing to be called mommy (she has a moment™️)

a/n: hi besties!! i wrote this on my phone because i can’t find my laptop charger so please excuse any sort of typos you find! thats also why the beginning of this post currently isn’t formatted like the other ones but soon as i can charge my laptop i’ll be fixing it. there will be a part three to this! i had to find a good place to end or else this would have been a beast to read lol.

ps. when i wrote this i was 100% imagining white tank top!jj and emily in the burgundy lululemon looking sweatshirt from the episode where they’re building the crib for kristy and matt ;)

you couldn’t contain your excitement as you basically tripped over your feet to run up to jj’s audi, jumping up and down in your seat as you waited for your girlfriends to join you. it was five minutes past nine and everyone was ready so naturally you ran to the car. you had been ready for two hours, but that was only because you had gotten up so early. you had everything you could possibly need in your little cross shoulder body bag and had to stop yourself from biting your fingernails to the quip in pure excitement as you waited. emily came out first, slipping you your preferred chewy necklace that was easy to hide under your shirt. as soon as the chewy end of it entered your mouth, emily’s hands reached around you and wrapped the black string around your neck. without realizing it you naturally leaned into her touch, pulling her hand toward your cheek as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt while you stared at the door leading inside the kitchen. jj came out a few minutes later, her to-go cup of coffee tucked neatly away in the crook of her arm as she started to pull up the directions to the zoo.

jj slid into the drivers seat with ease, smiling at you as she saw the way you were sitting. she grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before placing your phone in it, chuckling lightly at the layer of blush that ended up on your cheeks as you sheepishly took it from her. your block blast game was still up on the screen as you left it on the bathroom counter when you started doing your makeup. jj started the car and reversed out the driveway, leaving you to become reimmersed in your game. before you knew it you could just start see the sign for the zoo on the water tower peeking over the houses in the distance, meaning you were just about ten minutes away.

“lovey, besides seeing the giraffes, is there anything you want to do today?”

“um… i haven’t seen the elephants in a long time.” you paused, thinking. “and also the lions, i want to see the lions too.”

“do you think we could fit in a visit to the lemurs?” jj shot a glance to you. “i quite like lemurs.”

you nodded. “we can definitely see the lemurs.”

you made a mental note to yourself that jj liked lemurs, adding it to the little box that you had in your brain with facts about your girlfriends. it was mainly filled with silly little facts that most people wouldn’t normally pay attention to, like the fact emily writes in print script or that jj only eats salt and vinegar chips when she’s high. sure, there were the obvious facts that almost everyone on the team knew, but there were ones that were just your facts. and you wanted to keep them that way.

despite being a fully grown adult, you knew deep down that things like this were needed to help heal your inner child. you didn’t have the best childhood, but you were doing your best to fix it now. you bounced anxiously on the balls of your feet as you waited for the train to take you to the back of the zoo, the wind blowing your hair all around your face as you waited. jj silently pulled you toward her and helped you pull your hair back, putting it in a single braid for you.

by the time you got to the giraffe exhibit you could barely contain your excitement, your hands balling into fits and promptly unballing themselves as you tried to combat the need to stim. your arms stiffened as you tried to hold back your energy, shaking a bit as you focused on staying still as you could. that didn’t last long, seeing as there wasn’t many people around you at the moment and your girlfriends were positioned behind you. you let your hands start flapping, doing your best to keep them close to your sides as possible. a small squeak of noise came out of your mouth as you watched the zoo keepers slowly bring out the stars of the event. the crowd around you started to grow as the people made their way up from the front of the zoo, most of them not paying you any attention and instead looking for the little baby that the zoo was celebrating.

slowly but surely the calf made it's way out of the enclosure, still a little unsteady on it's feet. you watched in awe as it made it's way around the exhibit, noting how small it was compared to it's parents. jj wrapped her arms around you from behind, intertwining her fingers with your hands and placing a kiss on your shoulder. you could tell she was standing on her tip toes to reach your shoulder and made sure to flatten your feet, considering you tended to stay on your tip toes when you got too excited about things.

“how tall do you think he is?”

“i’d guesstimate around 6 feet.” you rocked up and back down to flat feet as you spoke. “giraffes give birth standing up so they fall roughly six feet to the ground but get up on their feet within the hour.”

“you know more about giraffes than i thought.”

“i had a hyperfixation on wild animals and the care of them before i ended up in the academy. i was wanting to double major in zoology and communications before i started to look into paths to go down with a communications degree.” you turned to face jj and emily. “i was going to be an advocate for animal rights but then i started reading about the fbi and decided that would probably be a better path to go down.”

before you could continue your thoughts, the chime that sounded before the giraffe feedings sounded, signaling for everyone who had a ticket to line up. you were closer to the end, whch was fine because it meant you could watch the giraffes for longer. emily and jj made sure to take pictures of you the whole time, smiling and laughing along with you as the giraffe’s tongue tickled your hand while it ate the leaves you held out. by the time you got out of the exhibit, your stomach started to rumble and you pouted towards your girlfriends as you walked past one of the many cafés scattered around the zoo. without a word, emily pulled the three of you inside, telling you to order whatever you wanted. you ended up going for the chicken tenders and fries, knowing that the meal was something you most likely would have gotten when you came as a child. it was hard to remember if you ever came, but you presumed it was what you got because it felt right.

by the time the three of you made it to the halfway point, you started to realize your whole body was beginning to hurt. you weren’t sure if it was from physically stopping yourself from stimming in the bigger crowds, or if it was from all the walking you had done. either way, you found yourself starting to slow down a bit and start to feel like you needed a ten hour nap. it was only when you got toward the lemur exhibit when your body really started to hurt, and you unintentionally started to let it slip into your mind that you were hurting and needed to go home.

jj was the first to notice that you were starting to feel off, clocking the heaviness of your walking and the fact you had started to get a little whiney. there had been approximately three times in the five years she had known you that she had ever seen you this way. and all of those times happened when you were over exerting yourself. most of the times it was because you were stubborn, but this time it didn’t seem that way. within ten minutes you were complaining about how much your feet hurt and how you felt like you were going to die if you didn’t get to sit down within the next five minutes. emily and jj fell a few steps behind you, whispering to each other about how to go about the situation.

“do you think she’s subconsciously wanting us to.. i dunno, take control? lacey mentioned something about that at the support group on saturday.”

jj chewed at the end of her necklace. “it's possible. i’m willing to try it if you are, but the second they push back or show any signs of not going along with it i’m stopping.”

“are you going to take the lead on this?”

“if you don’t mind. we know how easily they’ll react to you, i’m curious what would happen if you didn’t say anything but i did.”

“then do it. i trust you.”

jj squeezed emily’s hand before making her way back over to where you sat on the bench, watching the zebra walk by and graze on the grass in front of you. you definitely looked worse for wear, considering the braid your hair had been in all day was beginning to come undone and you most definitely got sunburned on your shoulders at some point. jj knew you weren’t feeling well, and that you were hiding it in order to appease her and emily. it was something she had noticed multiple times throughout their time with you so far. even if you didn’t feel like doing something, you typically would put on a happy face and go through with it anyway. it hadn’t happened much, but she had started to catch it more and more.

“y/n, it’s time to go.”

“what? no!” you gasped. “we haven’t even been to the polar bears yet!”

“i know, and i know you want to finish it but i’m calling it.” jj stepped closer to you, her voice dropping. “you’re tired and need to go home and rest. i’m giving you til the count of five, and if you don’t get up and come with us to the car we won’t go to dolphin beach this weekend.”

“you wouldn’t!”

“five.”

“jayje- this isn’t fair! em-my, do something!” you whined, staring at the brunette.

“two.” jj raised an eyebrow as you refused to budge. “fine, we stay, but no beach then.”

“i’d listen to her if i were you.” emily replied. “while we haven’t truly gotten into that dynamic with you just yet, i will say that i’d be careful how much you go against her, lovey.” emily gave you a pointed look before clasping her hands together. “that being said, we use the color system. red means hard stop, yellow means i’m uncomfortable and green means go.” emily paused. “color?”

“green.”

“good. if anything changes, tell jj. i’m going to go to the ladies room, i’ll meet you up by the gates.”

emily placed a kiss on jj’s cheek and simply patted you on the shoulder before walking towards the front of the zoo, leaving you alone with the blonde. the logical part of your brain knew she was right. you were tired, your body was aching and you couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without having to sit down. but on the other hand, you were having fun poking the bear. reluctantly you got up, huffing and making a big deal of going home. you didn’t understand much about the way it was making you feel, but you knew it sent a tingle through your body seeing jj getting all worked up. it was amusing to you how red she got from you simply being a brat. and frankly, you liked it.

“you’re being unfair!”

“this attitude stops now, y/n. we’re going home.”

you bit your tongue cheekily, a glint forming in your eyes as you waited to see jj’s reaction. “mommy, you’re being mean to me.”

jj whipped her head to you, balling her hand into a fist at the side of her body. “what did you just call me?”

“… mommy?”

jj stopped walking suddenly, causing you to bump into her. “red.” she swallowed. “i’d like to talk about that later, when we’re home. not right now.”

“i’m sorry.” you looked at the ground, mortified. “it won’t happen again.”

a wave of guilt overtook your body as you two quietly walked to the front of the zoo, emily sensed some tension the second she saw you two, but knew that if she said anything you would probably start to spiral. by the time you got back to the car, all you could do was slip into the backseat and hope that jj wasn’t do mad at you that she was going to end everything. emily, albeit confused, took the front seat, trying to get an accurate read on jj. something happened while she was in the bathroom, but she couldn’t place a finger on what exactly that something was. by the time jj pulled into the driveway, the tension in the car had gotten so thick you couldn’t hold your tears back, letting them fall slowly down your cheeks as you forced yourself not to sob.

“go to our room. i’m going to compose my thoughts, give us a minute to calm down, then i’ll come talk to you.”

“o-okay.”

jj waited until you got out of the car to look at emily. “i called red.”

“what happened?”

“she called me mommy. i didn’t like it. i felt… gross. it was almost… too feminine?” jj looked at emily. “i probably sound crazy but-“

“you’re allowed to not like the way it makes you feel, jay.”

“i just don’t understand why it made my skin crawl.”

“may i.. is that why you don’t like being called beautiful or pretty?”

jj’s head snapped up. “huh?”

“the feminine terms. you don’t like them.”

“not necessarily, no.”

emily nodded. “we don’t have to unravel this now, but we need to put a pin in this. the three of us need to talk about that together so we’re all on the same page.”

“you’re right. can you go check on them? i just need… i need to think about how i’m going to articulate everything.”

“of course.” emily squeezed jj’s hand. “come up when you’re ready.”

“i will. promise.”

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

[gh0stsp1d3r]

the lingerie fic got me HOOKED, pls do more 😭

ℒ𝒾𝓃𝑔ℯ𝓇𝒾ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝒽���ℯℯ

Warnings- nothing really, Luke steals a card from some perv, lingerie shopping w/ lukey pookie ™️

Part 1, part 2

Your hands were laced together as you walked through the mall. You decided to take him with you this summer, outside of camp.

He always had stayed the full term at camp. You once in a while left, like last summer when you bought the lingerie he oh so still loved.

Now, you were showing him things he had forgotten about after being at camp for so long.

You practically squealed as soon as you saw the Victoria’s Secret. You dragged him in, and he just rolled with it.

As a kid, he felt like it was illegal. Now here you were, dragging him into one with a large smile on your face.

“Okay, you have to help me pick some out.” You said, eyes landing on some sets already. Now that, he could most definitely do.

You went quickly to where you knew all the cute sets would be, grabbing some off the racks and holding them up to him.

“What do you think?” You asked him, but he always had the same response.

“You look good in anything.”

“You’re not helpful.” You pouted, putting it up. “But, that’s not my color anyways.”

He held the basket for you, as you threw some things in. You found a cute pink one that he knew would look the best on you, it had little flowers embroidered on it.

“Okay… so, which ones do I put up now?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because, I’m not trying to waste all my money here.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He held up a card, that he most definitely snatched from someone.

“Luke Castellan! Did you steal that?” You whisper yelled at him.

He shrugged, “might’ve.”

“From who?”

“Some guy who kept staring at you.”

“Luke…” you groaned.

“What? He kept looking at your ass! I think he deserved it. By the looks of him, he’s loaded.” He held his hands up in defense, and you just shook your head, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

“Why are you like this?”

“I am the son of the god of thieves, aren’t I?”

You laughed quietly, and he smirked, you both made your way to the cash register. He slid the card in, almost feeling bad for the guys bank account as he saw the number.

Then it asked for the pin, he thought for a moment and typed in 1234. And somehow, it worked.

You held 2 bags in your hands while he held 6 in his, as soon as you both left the store you left laughing loudly.

“How did you manage to do that?”

He laughed along “His pin was 1234. Idiot.” He mumbled. You gave him another kiss on the cheek.

“Well, thank you, my little thief.”

“Anything for you. As long as I’m able to see these all on you.”

“Duh, who else would I have to model for?”

[thesummerestsolstice]

One thing I think about a fair bit is Finwe's name. Like, the elves are basically known for long, flowing, beautiful hair. But even amongst the elves, Finwe is the one who ends up getting named for his hair– it's so amazing that it is his defining feature. So what made Finwe's hair so great? Well, I have two explanations, which are best when used together. One is loosely canonical, and one is entirely non-canon but extremely funny.

First: Feanor's hair is compared to raven feathers. Raven feathers are black, but they're also iridescent– they shine green, blue, and purple at different angles.* I think it would make sense if Feanor inherited his iridescent dark hair from Finwe, and if Finwe's hair was even shinier and more iridescent. For complicated headcanon reasons I won't explain now, I like to picture Finwe's hair as having the colors of the aurora borealis on a dark sky– that includes the green/blue/purple colors Feanor's hair has, but also some brighter greens and pinks. The aurora is an absolutely stunning natural phenomena and I think it's a great fit for Finwe, Noldor high king and ancestor of so many legendary figures.

Second: Finwe's hair is just always perfect, no matter what. Cuivienen is not a safe place and no one has any time for like, complex hair care but Finwe's hair always looks model-perfect and immaculately styled. It never gets tangled. He wears it down to his ankles on dangerous hunting trips at the lake and still never trips on it or gets it caught in anything. He can come back from a week of dangerous solo hiking in the dark and its still luscious and perfectly moisturized. The other elves think this is either very impressive or very irritating. It was a not-insignificant part of why they decided that Finwe should be their king.

By the way, I totally think the Finwean Hair Magic™️ is genetic. All of Finwe's descendants have amazing hair.

*shoutout to @sesamenom for their amazing Feanor art that shows him with iridescent hair and to @runawaymun for Feanor and Maglor art with iridescent hair. Their work is great and has inspired a lot of my headcanons on this.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[bullets-and-masks]

Ok I'm sorry these are SO boring to me and here's a bullet list on why:

all human roster. zer0 and fl4k meant nothing??

another siren. i know it's tradition but how you gonna explain this one? Tyreen's powers?? Also for someone with a pink/magenta heavy theme she's soooo muddled sos

that takes me to: muddy af color palettes. jesus did the bl3 aesthetic seep the contrast out of borderlands. Take my hand 🖐 let's examine:

All the vaulties always had a strong color palette or theme going on. Think about Krieg being mega orange, Zane contrasting blue and yellow, Moze being muddy but having a theme and contrasting with the other vaulties. These new guys fade into each other and into the background.

Individual problems imo with each one from left to right, calling them 1, 2, 3 and 4:

1: god where to start. Boring ASS clothes. The blade gauntlet things don't even stand out. NO silhouette AT ALL totally fades along NPC profiles. Nose piercing and soulpatch? sorry personal gripe but it's just too much. plus the hair and face shape (and bladed) is just Zane Lite™️. All and all from this screenshot alone they leave no impressions.

2: Again no silhouette and even worse her own colors clash. Where's the sense in a leg exposed COVERED in pink places against a pink backdrop of a waist coat?? HELLO?? And the hair jesus. Nothing there. I like that pink, tho. also again can't tell shit about the character from the clothes. Maya: action oriented, hands exposed suggest melee. Brick: a brick. Roland: obvs soldier boy. Amara: casual browler. etc.

3: to me a clusterfuck of subtle references. Ragged cloth, belts, codpiece, beard and hairstyle scream viking oriented. Armor is all over the place. All in all they give me "just some buff dude" energy. No expression at all. And way too top heavy. Too much gray, gordget clashes against paldron, it's just extra stupid how the metal hugs his waist but doesn't cover the abs... Sheesh. At least there's a sense of where the character might go gameplay wise - a Brick or Wilhelm.

4: well here we are everybody: the black female coded character with large pants that look like gigantic hips but a tiiiiiny little heroin chic waist. just take me out back and shoot me, gearbox. Between the visual weight of the big curls all to one side and the huge pants is sandwiched a small face and a minuscule torso. The huge gloves can't even move without hitting the tubes of her pants. I know what the designer was going for but Kingdom Hearts this is not.

If it wasn't by how stark the pink tattoos of the siren character look against the mess of uncoordinated colors this screenshot could've looked like a lineup of side characters like Lorelai or so. Idk, tertiary characters. BC if you think of the ensemble cast like Marcus, Ellie, Scooter, Moxxi, Zed and so on you can cleary think color palettes, silhouettes, character roles.

ALSO WHY IS IT SO SMOOTH??? the comic lines don't look nearly as heavy as they should be (just kidding I know why it's bc the Sergi Brosa-esque designs are busy as all fuck and everything now has to look like Overwatch and Dragon Age Veilguard).

kudos to what seems to be THREE POC characters tho!

[daiourage]

TFO Dual Rulers (?) AU

I've been seeing people do like a "what if D didn't go fuckin' coconuts" AU, and it kinda inspired me to start thinking of what other events would be changed in those scenarios.

(yes i'm still in denial)

Please take these lightly colored sketches!!! Also I'm sorry for lazy handwriting;;

Also also, as always, please click/press the image for quality!!!

("Brief" explanations for each of the numbered panels is under the cut (the numbers are just the order of when I drew them, and not in chronological order of the scenes)!!!)

1. I think, because D won't be the one to shoot at Sentinel because he's grounded in this AU, Sentinel would be the one to use the last of his strength to try and shoot at D, only for Orion to block it. I couldn't figure out how to draw D in immense agony about it so I just decided to make this paper a collection of ideas. If anyone has any ideas, please tell me because I want angst--//shot (I also finally remembered to write my signature this time!!!) 1-2. The main problem I had trouble figuring out was how D would possibly let go of Orion... He'd still say the "Why did you do that, why?!" line, but I don't know where to go from there. Would Sentinel still have energy to kick D's hand? Would Orion be too heavy to hold on? Would Orion tell D to let him go? Maybe they wouldn't even be hanging over the ledge and D would just be holding him--but then what? There was too many things to ponder about just one scene, and I wanted to get my other ideas out before I forgot about them. Guyssss give me your ideas please-- 2. It always bothered me that Orion and Bee left D in Sentinel's office(?) to hold him off on his own;;; like, I get it, D won't listen, but at least tell him you're leaving??? 2-2. I think the "What did he do to you?" conversation would be much longer. Not as comical and cheesy as the comic I sketched a little bit back, but... 3. (Please read it right to left;;; I just got done reading manga when I had the idea to draw this panel;;; also the entire page honestly. I'm so sorry y'all--)At the High Guards' base, I think D'd be the one to initiate a fight with Starscream still, but do it calmly. 4. I wanted to keep this line, because it would make sense still. Also might hurt a little more *screams* (D would not do the Anime Girl Pose™️, but I wanted him and Orion to match oop--) 5. After apprehending Sentinel, somehow we'd get his (Megatronus's) cog and Orion (now Optimus) would give it to D as a token of trust. Based off of @/momonsalmonmon on Twitter/X's absolutely gorgeous comics!!! (I also DO NOT remember how the cogs looked I'm sorry for not doing further research ;w; Will do better next time I promise;;;) 6. Bee and Soundwave BFFs???? (+ annoyed Shockwave) Please. Also maybe bring back Senator Soundwave as a concept??? Miss he;; It might be interesting, with Bee also "working for the government" now,,, 7. Headcanon that Orion is bad at math and confides in Elita and D for enforcing the taxes so the citizens don't become outraged but also so that the government has enough money to do stuff. D might be like "Aww he needs our help" and Elita would be like "godddd let me work out" 7-2. I feel like I draw Elita with an annoyed expression too much I'm so sorry milady;;; I promise I love you;;;